


Rules of Engagement

by chii



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:22:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ Genfic ] Honestly, York's half surprised Wash hasn't had an aneurism yet from all the rules they break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules of Engagement

The rules are in place to protect them.  
  
The Director says it all the time, explaining where certain areas are off limits, explaining why they cannot have access to certain things, explaining why he does things-- there are rules, and they're for their own good.  
  
His first week, he's shown a million and a half rules and it takes a moment to let it all soak in.  
  
York, on the other hand, seems to take glee in  flagrant disregard for any sort of rules that he can get around. The others follow suit because of this, it's clear-- he's supposed to be an example, isn't he?  
  
“...Wash, buddy, what are you doing, man?” York catches him just as he's about to go down the hall, all smiles and lazy waves of his hand as he drags the man under his arm and loops it over his shoulders, walking him down the hallway.  
  
“Lunch,” he answers, and realizes that they're heading in the wrong direction- the halls this way will-- “...York?”  
  
“Shortcut!” he responds before Wash can get anything out, and the man ducks down and away before York can push through the exit that is  _clearly marked_ ** RESTRICTED, ALLOWED PERSONNEL ONLY. **  
  
_ Is he crazy ? _  
  
Wash stops short, and just stares at York as the other man pushes his hand against the door, half-amused at the way Wash looks like he’s going to have  _ kittens_. “You uh. You gonna be okay there, buddy?” he asks, hearing voices down the hall as the others get out of training and Wash just stands there like York’s got a gun to the head of a kid.   
  
“...It says restricted,” Wash says, like York is awfully nice  but a little slow , and points to the sign just to be helpful.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“...As in no access.”  
  
“...Yeah, but it’s a shortcut.”   
  
York pushes on the door and Wash grabs his arm before he gets too far, shaking his head. “The Director’s  said we’re not to get into restricted areas-- how do you even have  access to this _place_ , shortcut or n--”   
  
He finds himself stopping short when he looks at the little key-card that York must have swiped which has full access rights to all areas in this wing, and Wash is pretty goddamn sure if he hasn’t had a heart attack yet, York’s going to be the one who makes it happen.   
  
“Thank Christ.”  
  
Both of them turn to find Carolina, South, CT and North all ambling down the hall, the last of them ducking past all of them with a casual wave over his shoulder, and a, “Thanks York,” tossed over it as well, the others following suit as Wash just gawks, disbelieving, catching the tail end of one of them saying, “ - _-gonna kill Iowa if he’s taken all the waffles, I swear to--_ ”   
  
It’s just him and York again after a moment, and the older Freelancer just raises an eyebrow, already starting to scoot toward the door. “Your choice, man, I just know that I like bacon and I like waffles, and if I’m not there before the rush, I won’t get either, so--”   
  
Wash doesn’t say a word, he just lets York go, and hears the ominous click of the door sliding shut again, and just walks the long way to the lunch room. The bacon is gone and the waffles are soggy by the time he gets there, and he really kind of hates all of them, just a little.   
  
  
  
  
  
It’s three, when he catches York picking a lock to the kitchen, the man giving him a raised eyebrow as he continues until the lock pops open quietly and he swings the door open, grinning.   
  
“So I have to ask, d’you find this more objectionable than the time I snuck the girl in to spend the night?” York asks just because he can, and ducks in before Wash can answer, just  _ staring,_ because he doesn’t ever remember hearing about York sneaking any girls in, and that’s _ crazy _ , that’s so far outside of regulations as to be --   
  
York darts back out a moment later, juice and hot bread rolls tossed into a basket, giving Wash a little wave for his trouble before heading back down the hall, whistling obnoxiously, not ever giving him a chance to answer, considering he’s still stuttering and trying to think of what to say in response to that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Lights out are at 10 PM.   
  
Wash finds himself wandering, near midnight, to keep himself sane, and that brings him down to the main hall where the mess and the lounge are, and instead of seeing everything dark, he realizes there are lights under the door, and soft voices.  
  
Despite himself, he finds himself opening the door up, and South glances up from where she’s sprawled on a pile of pillows, idly popping popcorn in her mouth, with Iowa draped on a couch, and York and Carolina in a corner, sharing a cup of coffee, bent over a table, half-watching the TV.  
  
“You don’t want this movie night,” someone says from the far corner, snorting. “Someone let Iowa pick, and that’s always a--”   
  
He doesn’t catch what they say, he just excuses himself and slides right back out the door, because the Director would kill them if they were ever caught doing stuff like this.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
“...So d’you think we could get porn to run on this thing? Hypothetically, I mean.”  
  
Wash walks all the quicker past the room before he can figure out who said that or  _ how they intend _ to pull such a thing off, not even wanting to know.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
High-level explosives require permission, require checking in with the Mother of Invention, require--  
  
Apparently they just require someone who can sneak them down on missions, because Wash nearly pisses himself when the building _fucking explodes_ right behind him, and the only reason he doesn't eat concrete is because Connie jerks him behind a wall she's ducking under, the resulting explosion leaving aftershocks rumbling through the ground and dust making it too hard to see anything not right in front of them.  
  
“...We aren't supposed to have those on missions,” Washington says, just because he can't think of anything else to say with his ears still ringing and head throbbing like it's going to explode at any given moment. Carolina is barking out orders in the background, and Maine hoists up his gun, hopping back into the car, while York staggers to his feet in return, laughing like a lunatic as Connie shoves past him to grab a seat.  
  
“Nope,” he agrees cheerfully, and slams his hand against Wash's back, helping him up to the vehicle. “Next time, buddy, I can just let the enemy take you down if you really wanna go that route, huh?”  
  
He's absolutely unbearable when he's right, and Wash swallows back a sigh, sitting in the front seat gingerly, sliding his helmet off and just giving York a deadpan look. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”  
  
When the Director asks _ how exactly _ _t_ hat building exploded, the room is strangely quiet, and they're all dismissed a few moments later, with the understanding that the Director is  not a _moron_ , but they got the job done, and they got it done well. There's precious little else he can ask for.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It's three AM when York hears the footsteps down the hall, sees the other Freelancer slide into the room and close the door behind him, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “Past curfew,” he says teasingly, and Carolina rolls over from where her head is resting on his thigh, giving him a once-over and then turning back to her plans, fingers dark with ink as she scratches notes on top of notes.  
  
Off to the side, North gives the other man a little nod of his head, and South doesn't ever acknowledge his presence, not until he settles gingerly between her and Connie, and she jerks her chin at the movie. “Movie tonight sucks, blame York and Connie, for some reason  she let them choose this time.”  
  
Connie bristles, predictably, and York leans in before anyone can start any catfights, kicking South with a little laugh, easy-going and playful down to the last, smoothing a hand down through Carolina's mussed hair when she gives him a dirty look for him moving around so much. “The movie doesn't suck, okay, the movie is awesome, and I--” he casts a look at Wash before shrugging, grinning a little wider. “I totally acquired it through legal means and sure as hell didn't...y'know--”  
  
“Pass the popcorn,” Wash says, shaking his head in resignation, and giving Connie a faint smile when she sets it on their knees so they can both share it.


End file.
